


To Be Found

by through_shadows_falling



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: (Secretly soft that is), Alternate Universe, Animal Attack, Animal Transformation, Fandom Trumps Hate, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Identity Reveal, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witch Geralt, familiar jaskier, witch/familiar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/pseuds/through_shadows_falling
Summary: Geralt replayed the wizard’s words about Familiars. With the way that stupid green bird had shown up so suddenly and wouldn’t stop following him, he couldn't help but wonder...was he Geralt's Familiar?But that was impossible, and Geralt didn't need a Familiar anyways.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 241
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	To Be Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dls/gifts).



> This was written for Fandom Trumps Hate (FTH) 2020! My bidder DLS wanted Geralt/Jaskier, and I was like...how about a Witch/Familiar AU? And thus this story was born! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Also P.S. - I have only ever seen the Netflix adaptation.

After an hour in the dreary forest, Geralt adjusted his weight in the saddle while Roach plodded ever onward. The day was gray, the air cold and still with their breaths fogging before them. Gentle snowflakes drifted down, and Geralt tugged the collar of his furs tighter around his neck.

“Honestly,” he grumbled to Roach, “who do they think they are, telling me what to do?” He didn’t expect a reply. Still, the scolding remarks from the last town’s wizard rankled in his mind. _You need a Familiar, Witcher, or your power will grow beyond your capacity to control it!_

Geralt snorted. A Familiar? Fuck that—his magic worked just fine. He didn’t need an animal companion to ‘channel his abilities.’

To prove his point, he summoned a swirling ball of black and purple energy to his palm and aimed for an overhanging branch a short distance ahead. He planned to lop it off at the base, but when he released his magic, the ball hit the branch and radiated out to the tree in a massive blast. Chunks of wood sprayed in every direction, and with a mighty groan, the entire tree toppled onto the path. Snow shot into the air, forming a white cloud.

For a moment, Geralt could only stare. Then, gritting his teeth, he flicked the reins and steered Roach around the new obstacle. “Don’t say a word.”

Roach only let out a soft whuff.

They continued down the endless winding road. Aside from the white snow, there were no other colors—just grays and blacks and browns. Which was why a flash of vibrant green snagged Geralt’s attention. He jerked in the saddle, eyes narrowing on a green bird flitting between the tree branches.

He huffed. The bird had to be some kind of escaped pet, as it certainly didn’t belong in this climate. The bird flapped closer, and Geralt caught sight of a red beak, blue eyes, and a black ring around its neck.

It landed on a nearby branch and fluffed up its plumage. Despite his dismal mood, one side of Geralt’s mouth lifted into a smile. The bird was pretty. Too bad it stood out and would probably get eaten soon.

“Come on, Roach. Let’s go another hour or so and then settle in for the night. Sound good?”

Roach, of course, said nothing, but the bird whistled a sudden, sharp pitch that had Geralt frowning in its direction. “What? You got a problem with that?” His scowl deepened when it seemed like the bird met his gaze in return. But that was stupid. The bird was a dumb animal—dumber than a horse, surely. Geralt had to be seeing things.

He sighed. “Now I’m talking to a bird.” He laughed to himself, but the bird trilled again before swooping in front of him and alighting on a nearer branch. Geralt halted Roach, and this close to the creature, he could make out the small bands of multicolored feathers fanning from the black ring on its neck—gradients of pastel blue, pink, and purple. The bird was also bigger than he expected, its body about nine inches tall and its feathered tail extending about seven inches more.

“Bet someone paid a handsome sum for you,” he said with a wry half-smile. “You best fly on home to your owner before something gobbles you up.”

The bird cocked its head, clicking its beak. It ruffled its feathers again.

Geralt made a shooing motion at it. “Go on. Be smart. It’s dangerous and fucking cold out here. You won’t last long if you stay.”

The bird gazed at him, then suddenly spoke in a comical high-pitched voice, “Toss a coin, toss a coin!”

Geralt startled. “What the fuck? You talk?” But when the bird only repeated the same phrase, he relaxed. It was still just a bird. “Sounds like your owner was greedy if they taught you to say stupid shit like that. I’m not tossing you any coins.” He urged Roach forward. “Let’s go, girl. I’ve had enough of this.”

But the bird didn’t appear to be done with him. Indeed, the entire rest of the ride the bird kept pace, swooping between trees and zipping ahead to land on branches and wait for them to catch up. Geralt tried to ignore their colorful pursuer, but it was difficult when the thing kept repeating, “Toss a coin!”

“Shut up, would you?” he finally growled, but his words had no effect, almost as if the bird was ignoring him. “Do you want to die? You’re drawing attention to yourself.” Although the woods were fairly dead—he’d seen neither hide nor hair of another animal—Geralt knew from experience that predators could crop up anywhere, any time. This loud, showy bird was doomed. When it only continued its antics, he shrugged. “Fine! Suit yourself. Get killed for all I care.”

An hour later in a copse of trees, Geralt tied up Roach and made camp. He attended to Roach’s needs, then unrolled his pallet and set out to gather firewood. When he had enough, he brushed off the snow and struck flint together to start a fire. Magic would’ve completed the task faster, but considering his earlier ordeal, he didn’t want to accidentally set the woods ablaze.

By the time flames crackled and popped, the sun had slipped below the horizon and the forest faded to night. Geralt lay back, and just as he was about to stretch out the kinks in his muscles from riding all day, he yelped. The bird was perched on a branch above him, preening as the firelight reflected in its beady eyes.

“Would you fucking leave me alone already? I swear I’ll catch you, wring your neck, and cook you over the fire if you don’t.”

In response to his threat, the bird merely tucked its head under its wing to sleep. Geralt muttered under his breath and punched an extra cloak—his makeshift pillow—into a more comfortable arrangement. He settled back and pulled a blanket over himself. 

But his gaze caught on the bird again. It seemed to shiver whenever cold wind cut through the trees. The stupid thing was going to freeze to death, and for a split second, Geralt entertained the idea of somehow covering it with a blanket, keeping it snug and warm. He chased the image away with a disgusted shake of his head. He needed the bird gone—it was messing with his mind. Geralt flipped onto his side and pointedly faced away. Banishing all thoughts of idiotic green animals, he closed his eyes and sank into sleep.

In the morning, Geralt awoke with a yawn. He glanced up to find the bird staring at him. It cawed, and Geralt groaned even though a tiny part of him was relieved it had survived the night.

The second day progressed the same as the one before, and Geralt scoffed at his previous concern for the bird’s safety. The stupid thing wouldn’t stop following him, no matter how he shouted or threw things or urged Roach to go faster with the hopes of losing it amongst the trees. No, the creature was stubborn, and nothing seemed to bother it. Its aggravating noises didn’t relent, and Geralt once again endured ceaseless clicks and whistles and those dumb words, “Toss a coin, toss a coin!”

To calm himself, Geralt spent most of the day imagining the different ways he could kill the bird. An arrow would be satisfying, as well as stabbing the heart of its master for teaching their pet such irritating words.

He said as much to the bird when he and Roach halted for lunch beside a stream. The creature had touched down on the opposite bank, and in a shallow puddle, began to flutter its wings to take a bath. Geralt didn’t want to admit that its tiny spluttering and chirping was...kind of cute. Instead, he rolled his eyes.

Geralt removed his noontime meal from his rucksack—hardtack, cheese, and a few slices of cured venison. As he chewed, he caught the bird watching him, and it occurred to Geralt that he hadn’t seen the thing eat neither that day nor the day before.

“Aren’t you fucking hungry?” he asked it.

The bird blinked at him. “Toss a coin, toss a coin.”

“Yeah, yeah. So I’ve heard.” He paused. “Do you even know how to hunt for food? What do birds like you even eat?” The thing had to be starving—it’d been flying almost nonstop for two days. Though, if the bird really was a pet, it probably had no idea how to survive in the wild.

Geralt eyed his square of hardtack, then with a long sigh, broke off a corner and tossed it to the bird. The creature hopped out of range at first, startled, then scuttled closer before pecking at the food. Geralt snorted. “So you were hungry. Good to know you like hardtack, though don’t expect me to share more with you.”

Roach huffed from where she was lapping water at the stream, and Geralt nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, I know, I’m talking to the bird again.” Though he supposed talking to his horse wasn’t much better. “I promise it’ll go back to just you and me soon once we figure out how to get rid of our annoying little pest here.” 

The bird hooted as if offended, and the way it puffed up its feathers in seeming outrage made Geralt release a bark of laughter. “I swear this thing can understand me sometimes, Roach.” He bit off a few more chunks of hardtack, then threw the rest to the bird. By the time he’d finished packing up and checking on Roach, every last crumb was gone. Geralt swung into the saddle, and with a click of his tongue, they resumed their journey.

Over the next few days, the bird remained their constant companion. Geralt lamented that feeding it had probably given it the wrong idea, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop, not when the thing worked so hard to keep up with him and Roach. It was impressive, really, for something so small.

By the end of the fourth day, Geralt was tired of thinking of it as ‘the bird.’ Because of the way it showed off, he decided it was a male and gave it the name Ptak.

“Ptak, do you really not know any other words?” Geralt asked. The day was sunny for a change, with beams of light slanting through the woods. In an illuminated spot on a branch, Ptak’s bright colors practically glowed.

“Toss a coin, toss a coin.”

“Can’t you learn to say anything else? I wonder how you were trained to say that.” Geralt gazed at Ptak, who’d been steadily flying and landing closer to him. Ptak currently gripped a tree limb only a few feet away. If Geralt shifted far enough, he could reach out and stroke Ptak’s feathers. That gave him an idea. He produced more hardtack from his bag and crumbled up bits of it onto his open palm.

Ptak trilled, his head bobbing up and down in apparent interest.

“Yes, it’s food. Delicious, delicious food. Come and get it.” Geralt held his arm as steady as he could with Roach still navigating the path below. They’d soon overtake Ptak, so Geralt hoped the bird would choose to accept his offer of a ride.

Ptak chirped, seeming unsure. Then, as Geralt and Roach passed out of range, he flew over to land on Geralt’s arm.

A smile lit up Geralt’s face at the feeling of talons gripping him. “Well hey there.” Ptak walked along his arm, then bent to peck at the crumbs in his palm. As soon as Ptak’s beak touched his bare skin, a spark shocked the both of them, and Ptak lurched away, squawking. Geralt cursed. “What the fuck was that?” But the moment was ruined, and Ptak didn’t return to his arm for the rest of the day, no matter how much Geralt cajoled him.

That night, Geralt replayed the wizard’s words about Familiars and wished he’d learned more. With the way Ptak had shown up so suddenly and wouldn’t stop following him, the times he seemed to understand what Geralt was saying, and the strange spark that happened when they made contact, it was possible that...well, that he was Geralt’s Familiar.

“That’s crazy,” Geralt said. Someone like _him_ having an annoying, colorful bird as his magical companion? Whose idea was that? And weren’t Familiars supposed to possess human forms?

“Ptak, can you transform?” He directed his gaze to the trees above him, where Ptak was nestled in a shadow, a small shape in the dark. Soft snores echoed out.

Then again, maybe Geralt really _was_ going insane. He’d been talking to animals too long. Thankfully, according to his map, the next village was only one more day away. Ptak surely wouldn’t follow him there, not in sight of other people.

The next morning, Geralt got himself and Roach ready for the day with an odd sensation niggling at the back of his head. It wasn’t until he’d traveled for about half a mile before he realized the source of his unease. 

Ptak was gone.

Geralt yanked on Roach’s reins and surveyed the area with his Witcher eyes. “Ptak?” The bird’s name wedged like a lump in his throat—a lump of fear and confusion. What did it mean that Ptak was gone? Shouldn’t he be relieved at the peace and quiet? Instead, his gut clenched in panic. Had Ptak been eaten after all?

An almighty squawk echoed through the forest, and Geralt aimed Roach to the sound as they darted off the road. He dug his heels into her sides, urging her faster. When the screeching stopped, Geralt’s insides flooded with ice. “No, no, no.” He couldn’t lose Ptak. He didn’t know why—or maybe he did and couldn’t admit it. Was Ptak his Familiar? He’d never find out if the stupid bird got himself killed.

A flash of green appeared ahead on the ground—a clump of feathers. “Shit. Ptak!” Geralt leapt off Roach and swiveled in every direction. “Ptak, where the hell are you?”

And then Ptak was there, a green blur that dove down and crashed into his chest. Geralt flung up his arms to catch him as an ugly beast burst out from the trees. It might’ve been a hawk once, but it’d been corrupted, turned into an oozing mass of feathers and bones. How it remained airborne Geralt couldn’t fathom, but when a warbling hiss emerged from its hooked beak and the monster’s talons spread as it plunged in their direction, he shifted Ptak to the side so he could free an arm. Geralt flung out his hand and planned to hurl a ball of magic at the abomination, but instead of the sphere he envisioned, his power twisted and elongated into a spear that flew true. The point struck the beast square in its chest, causing it to roar. Its wings stuttered, and then it plummeted from the sky to splat on the ground in a smoldering heap of viscera.

Geralt stared at the creature’s corpse, then at his hand. His magic had never been so refined before, so perfectly targeted and powerful enough to kill on the first shot.

A weak croak came from his chest, and Geralt gasped. Ptak was bleeding from slashes on his back where the beast’s talons must’ve sunk in deep. A number of feathers had been ripped away, exposing his flesh. Geralt quickly wrapped his coat around the bird’s body.

“Ptak. What did I say about things trying to eat you?”

Ptak’s beak opened and closed. “Toss a coin,” he said, and the sound was feeble. His eyes fluttered.

“No, fuck, you don’t get to die on me, you stupid thing! You’ve annoyed me this far, and I expect you to keep it up, you hear?”

Ptak stilled, and Geralt’s eyes burned. “You useless bird.” His voice shook as he cradled Ptak to him. Despite being bigger than expected, Ptak weighed hardly anything. Geralt sucked in a ragged breath, then raised a hand to stroke the bird’s head. Another spark ignited at the contact, but this time, neither of them could pull apart. The light grew and grew, blinding Geralt until he had to squeeze his eyes closed. Something awakened in the back of his mind, something he’d been missing without even realizing it.

And when the light dimmed enough for Geralt to see, a man stood before him wearing clothes in shockingly familiar colors—green, purple, pink, blue, and black. Not only that, but there wasn’t a speck of blood in sight. He was completely healed.

“Ow. That was unpleasant. Thank you for saving me,” the man said. He shook his head. “Phew! You’re a hard one to track down.” He stretched and wriggled his fingers. “Goodness, I nearly lost myself, but you’re lucky I persisted.”

“What the fuck.”

“Oh, terribly sorry! My name’s Jaskier. You’re my Witch, and I’m your Familiar. I’ve been looking for you for ages. Nice to officially meet you.” Jaskier stuck out a hand.

Geralt stared at it. “Are you saying _you’re_ Ptak?”

“No, no, it’s Jaskier—I just told you.”

Geralt groaned. Ignoring Jaskier, he hurried over to Roach, who’d waited for him just beyond the zone of danger. He patted her neck, appreciative yet again of her loyalty. She nipped at his fingers, affectionate, and Geralt scoffed. “I don’t need a Familiar.”

“Sure you don’t.” Jaskier planted his hands on his hips. “I suppose then you’re happy to let your magic build up inside you until it literally explodes out of your chest? I’ve seen it happen, you know. It’s not pretty. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

And Geralt had thought _Ptak_ was aggravating. Now the bird was a man, and the man could speak way more than a single phrase. Geralt swung into the saddle. “Come on, Roach.”

“Hey, wait, where are you going? You’ve got to take me with you! We’re Bonded now.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think so.”

“Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt froze at Jaskier’s dark, serious tone. “What?” When he turned, he met Jaskier’s eyes.

Jaskier’s gaze was steady, intense. Energy shimmered between them, crackling. “Geralt of Rivia, you are mine and I am yours. You cannot deny this.”

Geralt shivered, but not from the cold. He opened his mouth, but any attempt at speech died on his tongue. His magic pulsed under his skin, a formless energy that strained toward Jaskier. He caught his body leaning back, too, as if it didn’t want to leave.

“We need each other,” Jaskier added quietly. “Please.”

Geralt coughed to clear the sudden ache in his throat. “I’ve only got one horse.”

Jaskier’s expression softened. “Oh Geralt dear, did you forget I’m also a bird?” In the blink of an eye he transformed and once again Ptak—Jaskier—fluttered in the air. This time, he flew over to land solidly on Geralt’s shoulder. _And we can speak like this now_. 

Geralt jerked at the voice in his head. “Pt—Ah, Jaskier?”

Jaskier chirped then nibbled at his ear.

“Hey, quit it!” Geralt swiped at him, but Jaskier hopped onto his opposite shoulder.

_Fine. Shall I sing for you, then?_

“Please no.” Geralt nudged Roach forward. “Also, I thought you could only say that one thing.”

_What, toss a coin?_

“Ugh. Don’t start.”

_No, I can mentally sing! Want to hear a piece I’ve been working on?_

Geralt grumbled but still listened while Jaskier demonstrated various melodies he’d been experimenting with. 

And although Geralt claimed annoyance and snapped at Jaskier to shut up and fly away—harsh words Jaskier firmly ignored—he couldn’t stop his insides from squirming in pleasure to have a true companion beside him. It wouldn’t be just him and Roach anymore, and Geralt thought that maybe, maybe, he could live with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Ha, the name 'Ptak' amuses me - it means 'bird' but also is slang for 'cock or penis.' When I found that out, I was like...I have stumbled upon perfection!
> 
> I love writing cute birds, and it was fun to figure out the type of bird Jaskier would be! For anyone who wants to know, the bird is a Green Indian Ringneck Parakeet!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
